


Reprieve

by Occasus



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Costa del Christmas, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occasus/pseuds/Occasus
Summary: Reprieve: (noun) a cancellation or postponement of a punishment.Rufus Shinra is granted a holiday away from his extended house arrest—with stipulations, of course. To ensure his best behavior, he is to be accompanied by a highly-trained, loyal chaperone: one Tseng of the Turks.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67
Collections: Shinra Holiday 2020





	Reprieve

Rain falls in sheets, hammering against the windows of the sleek black sedan. The wipers scrape tirelessly across the windshield in the downpour, barely managing to clear the glass enough for Tseng to see the road. Thick cloud cover and heavy rain turn the coastline into an ominous blur of gray, obscuring the ocean entirely from view. The temperature in Costa this time of year isn’t what it would have been in the summer months, but the inclement weather had plummeted the numbers into downright chilly territory. 

Rufus is uncharacteristically quiet, his chin propped in his hand as he watches raindrops run in rivulets down the passenger window. A silent, pensive presence ever since he slipped into the car some miles back. It’s the first time he’s been allowed out of his penthouse in months. The president had reluctantly granted his errant son’s request to spend the holidays away from his gilded prison—with stipulations, of course. It was to be spent away from the public eye to maintain the ruse that Rufus’ ‘extended business trip’ was ongoing, and he was to be monitored at all times for the duration of the trip, both for his own protection and for surveillance of his activities. 

The Turks had overseen Rufus’ house arrest from the beginning, with Tseng obediently reporting to the president at regular intervals, feeding him all the information he wanted to hear. A clever fabrication involving a bored, petulant Rufus serving out his punishment in sullen acceptance. And so when Rufus requested Tseng be his chaperone for the holiday, no questions were asked—not after the good Director had so diligently proven his devotion to the company. 

Tseng had done well to preserve the illusion of loyalty to the father, when in fact, it was the son who held his allegiance. 

Rufus huffs a quiet sigh and sinks further into the seat. Tseng glances at him from the corner of his eye, wondering what sort of thoughts run through that quicksilver mind. As if sensing the attention, Rufus turns to look across the space between them, eyes startlingly bright against the colorless background of the rainstorm, glacial blue and intense. 

“Tseng.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to suck your cock before we even arrive.” 

A spike of heat burns up Tseng’s spine and he turns his eyes back to the road, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel with a creak of leather. Rufus’ smug little _hmph_ confirms that he is well aware of how his words affect Tseng; how the mere promise of that cruel mouth on him makes Tseng’s skin heat beneath his suit, makes his throat go dry. 

Whatever illicit thing it was that had developed between them in recent months, it was dangerous, reckless, unprofessional—and it had Tseng by the throat. 

“I’ve been trying to keep my hands off of you ever since I got into this car, but you make it difficult when you keep staring.” 

Tseng chuckles. “My apologies, sir.”

“You’ve missed me.” Rufus concludes. 

“Perhaps. It’s been several weeks now, hasn’t it?” 

Rufus hums thoughtfully, looking out into the storm. “Forty-nine days.” 

Something about Rufus cataloguing the lonely days between their meetings makes Tseng’s chest ache. It’s true that he thinks of Rufus when they’re apart, wonders about him and longs for him, at times waking in the night drenched in cloying sweat with Rufus’ name on his lips. But Tseng’s life is hectic and hazardous, his days blurring into his nights and his thoughts endlessly occupied. He can’t imagine being in Rufus’ shoes, having a mind so brilliant and aspirations so vast only to be trapped within the same four walls, day in and day out. 

“We have an entire week now,” Tseng says quietly, turning off onto the road that will take them to the president’s private property. “The holidays will be a good break for you.” 

“For the both of us,” Rufus corrects. “Although, admittedly I’m not particularly interested in the holidays themselves. I’m more curious to see if you are capable of relaxing.” 

The gates to the private villa manifest from the gloom, Shinra’s logo emblazoned artfully into the metalwork. Tseng slips the darkened window down a fraction, enough for security to run his clearance, and then the gates swing wide. He feels Rufus’ eyes on him again as the car coasts along the muddied driveway. 

Tseng parks the car and scowls at the ceaseless rain. Not exactly the climate he had hoped for. “Wait here.” He ducks out into the downpour, the fierce wind snatching at his tie and his hair. He appears a moment later at the passenger door with an umbrella, offering Rufus a hand. 

Rufus smiles and slips his palm into Tseng’s soft leather grip, stepping out into the storm. 

“I’ll notify the staff to bring in the luggage,” Tseng says over the din. “Let’s get inside.” 

The villa staff were professionally discrete, but employed by Shinra nonetheless, and so to keep appearances, Tseng and Rufus would have separate bedrooms and bathrooms. The suites were adjacent to ensure close surveillance of Rufus, and Tseng found it endlessly amusing that the president sent him in confidence to watch over his unruly son with a careful eye, when in fact he had given them the perfect setup for their secret affair. An extended weekend alone with Rufus, furnished by the president himself. 

In the mudroom, Tseng puts away the umbrella while Rufus sheds his coat, mostly dry thanks to Tseng. There’s not a single, pristine blond hair out of place, meanwhile Tseng is soaked and chilled to the bone, rainwater dripping from the ends of his hair, his shirt collar clinging to his neck. 

“The storms should break by tomorrow afternoon.” 

Rufus hums a sound of acknowledgment, hanging his coat and tugging the fingers of his gloves loose one at a time. Blue eyes cut over to Tseng, predatory in the way they narrow and rake the length of his body. His voice is crushed velvet when he speaks, low and soft. 

“Are the staff aware of our arrival?” 

“Not yet, sir.” 

“Good.” Rufus steps into Tseng’s space, backing him up against the door. He leans into him until their bodies are flush together, chest to chest, hip to hip. “Don’t call them yet.” 

His mouth drops to Tseng’s throat, lips sealing over the place where his pulse accelerates. Rufus’ hand slips between their bodies to palm Tseng’s cock through the fabric of his finely tailored trousers. Tseng shudders, the room blurring as his lashes flutter and his breath leaves him on a rush. Suddenly, he isn’t nearly as cold. 

“Really? Here?” 

“Mmm, here. I’ve waited long enough.” Rufus purrs into his neck, nipping playfully at Tseng’s ear so that his blunt teeth click against the stud in his lobe. 

“You could’ve at least let me dry off,” Tseng sighs, unable to resist pressing his hips forward into his lover’s clever hand. 

“Oh, Tseng,” Rufus teases, mouth pressed to his ear. “I _like_ you wet.”

Without further delay, he drops to his knees on the tile, heedless of the rainwater soaking into his pristine white suit. He undoes Tseng’s belt with the speed and precision of a man who knows exactly what he wants, and Tseng leans his head back against the door, dizzy with anticipation. It’s not the first time Rufus Shinra has knelt for him, and doubtless won’t be the last, but it still feels surreal. Conviction burns in Tseng’s chest at the gravity of what they are doing, but the weight and the hunger Rufus’ gaze when he looks up at him vaporizes any rational thought and sends all of Tseng’s blood rushing south. 

“This is all I could think about on the drive over, getting my mouth on you. I’ve missed how you taste.” 

Rufus frees Tseng’s cock, his pretty white hands ice cold, but Tseng doesn’t mind, because soon the frigid touch is replaced by the searing heat of Rufus’ mouth, the wet stroke of his tongue. A groan vibrates up out of Tseng’s throat, and he sinks his fingers into fine blond silk, tugging until he feels the straight line of Rufus’ nose press into his lower belly, until that throat swallows around him and makes his vision white. 

Every pass of Rufus’ tongue and draw of his lips loosens Tseng’s grip on control. He recalls that it has indeed been forty-nine days since he last had Rufus’ hands on him. Forty-nine nights alone. Forty-nine breakneck sun-cycles of blood and gunpowder, of boardrooms and ink stains and deceit. 

Rufus takes him deep into his throat and moans around him, the sound vibrating through every synapse of every neuron in Tseng’s body. His orgasm doesn’t so much crescendo as it fractures him entirely, his head knocking back while he shakes through it until his ears ring. He’s still slumped against the door, chest heaving, when Rufus sits back on his heels. He wipes at his swollen lower lip with his thumb, licking off the excess before a wickedly self-satisfied grin breaks across his handsome face.

“What?” Tseng asks, breathless and giddy. 

Rufus straightens gracefully. “Just thinking of how thoughtful it was for my father to ensure my safety and best behavior by sending his most loyal Turk to shadow me.” 

Tseng’s answering laugh is muffled into a kiss that tastes of himself. 

  
  


* * * * *

The weather breaks the following day, but not before Tseng spends the gray morning making up for lost time in Rufus’ bed. They shower together in the master bath around noon, and Tseng has Rufus against the tiles, his cries echoing in the space so loudly it’s a miracle the staff aren’t alerted. 

They lounge around, sipping drinks and catching up. Tseng speaks of Midgar at Rufus’ request, telling him details from the city and the company while Rufus stares out the bay window toward the ocean with a naked longing in his eyes so raw it feels too intimate to witness. In turn, Rufus tells Tseng of his own plans, his progress, the treasonous activity he continues behind the scenes under his father’s nose. He sits behind Tseng and combs through his hair, his voice pitching excited when he speaks of the future while his fingers twist the long dark curtain of Tseng’s hair into an amateur, messy braid. 

Tseng is content to listen to him, letting his eyes slip closed and enjoying the rare moment of domestic calm. It’s strange, there was a time when Rufus Shinra's silver voice and bulletproof arrogance infuriated him. Now the sound of it was welcome and grounding. Rufus’ vision of a future that included Tseng at his side stirred an emotion in Tseng that frightened him. Made a small voice in the back of his mind whisper _what if?_ What if that life was something he could have, if _Rufus_ was something he could have, not just now when Tseng was a valuable ally, but _then,_ too, in that rose-colored future Rufus spoke of. It was dangerous territory for his thoughts to wander to, but Rufus surpassed his father in both intelligence and charisma, and sometimes Tseng allowed himself to step into his grand visions of a better tomorrow and imagine what it could be like to share it with him. 

By evening, the clouds begin to dissipate and the sky breaks into a breathtaking mosaic of pink, orange, and azure. They walk along the beach, carrying their shoes and falling naturally into step. A chill lingers in the air, and Rufus turns the collar of his coat up against the sea breeze that tousles his hair. Wisps of blond trail across his forehead, falling into his eyes, the effect a nostalgic glimmer of boyish charm from bygone days. 

Rufus looks out over the water, inhaling the salt air and letting it out on a long sigh. “Not my first holiday away from Midgar,” he muses. 

Tseng pauses at his side. “Sir?” 

“Schooling. Studies.” Rufus stares at the horizon, his thoughts as far away as the line where sea met sky. “The season was never made important. I’m sure you can imagine. My father was too busy. He’s never been one for sentiment.” He smiles a small, wistful smile, glancing down at his bare feet in the sand. “Mother enjoyed it. I was too young to really recall, but she liked the decorations. The music. The gift giving.” 

Tseng remains quiet. It’s not often Rufus gives him a glimpse into his childhood, trusts him with information so private and personal. 

“After she was gone, well,” Rufus sighs, “It didn’t really matter anymore. There was always too much to be done.” His eyes turn back to Tseng, the previous emotions packed away behind a cool mask. “What about you, Tseng? Fond memories of Wutian tradition?” 

Tseng’s childhood feels so far removed from his current life, his humble roots contrasting sharply with the man he’s become. He rummages through his memory, calling to mind images of his parents, himself and his siblings like stairsteps, all dressed in red. His sisters giggling and rushing past him to get first pick of the sweets in the kitchen. Lighting lanterns and exchanging red envelopes with his family. He smiles to himself. “Yes, although that was long ago. Much like yourself, the magic of it got lost in reality as I grew up.” 

“Not much for sentiment either, are you?” Rufus teases. 

Tseng shrugs sheepishly. “Not exactly.” For a Turk, there was little room for such things. 

Rufus reaches out and takes hold of the end of Tseng’s braid, fiddling playfully with it. His eyes spark with mischief. “How long has it been since anyone gave you a gift?” 

“I don’t know—”

“I have something for you. But I’m saving it, for later in the week.” 

Tseng frowns. “That isn’t necessary, sir.”

“Consider it an expression of my gratitude.” Rufus says, inclining his head with a smirk. “For all you do for me. I’d be lost without you.” 

Tseng looks out toward the blazing sun sinking into the darkening sea on the horizon. A whole week of this—and Rufus—to himself. “This is enough.” 

“Nonsense. You deserve nice things, Tseng.” Rufus touches his jaw, gently turning Tseng’s cheek to look him in the eyes. “We have this week together. Let me spoil you a bit.”

“I have nothing to give you in return.”

Rufus chuckles, warm and fond. “This,” he says, “This view, this time together, _you,_ Tseng. That’s the greatest gift I could ask for.” 

The gravity of those words is too much for Tseng to bear. It stirs something in his rib cage, an emotion so potent and telling it sets off warning bells in the back of his mind. He says nothing, because he can’t, instead turning his mouth into Rufus’ palm, grazing his lips over his heart line. 

Holidays alone, away from Midgar—Rufus had spent his entire life lonely, seeking an affection he deserved yet never received. Tseng was a consistent, loyal presence, someone to confide in, to occupy the yawning space no one else ever had. That was all. This relationship was purely physical, convenient. To expect anything more was foolish. 

Rufus snakes his leg between Tseng’s, catching him off guard and sweeping his feet out from under him, sending them both crashing to the sand. Tseng’s back hits hard enough to knock the breath from him, Rufus landing on him in a sprawl, laughing hysterically. 

Tseng’s voice is airy and strained in his attempt to drag air back into his lungs. “What the _hell—”_

Rufus kisses him, shoving his tongue into his mouth, and then Tseng is breathless for an entirely different reason. 

“If it wasn’t so cold, I’d have you right here.” Rufus whispers, rocking his hips forward for friction against Tseng’s thigh, grinding into his pelvis. 

“Here?” Tseng gasps, “In all this sand? It would be a dreadful cleanup.”

“You’re insufferable,” Rufus gripes, and Tseng laughs, the sound pitching into a groan when soft lips descend to find the hollow of his throat, latching on and sucking a wine stain bruise to olive skin. 

A moment passes, or perhaps it’s an hour that they spend tangled on the shore as the pink fades from the sky and the stars come out. High tide rushes in without warning, the wave knocking them askew and nearly drowning them both. Rufus yelps and jumps up, cursing and slinging water from his hair while Tseng laughs and splutters, utterly soaked and choking on saltwater. 

“I warned you fornicating on the beach was unwise.” He teases, grinning until his face hurts despite his shivering. 

Rufus shoots him a glare, miserable and ice-cold in his sopping-wet coat. His pouting mouth is red and kiss-swollen. “Don’t make me regret bringing you along.”

“I thought I was a gift?”

“Shut up and help me find my shoes.” 

  


* * * * *

  


The sun returns on the fourth day, warm and welcoming. The ocean is glass beneath a cloudless sky, shades of blue stretching endlessly to meet at the horizon. Rufus lounges on the veranda in his swim shorts and designer aviators, his shirt undone and a fruity, frivolous drink in his hand. The pale skin of his chest and stomach is smooth and flawless, as if shaped by a sculptor’s hands. Enticing. 

Tseng quietly slips up alongside him, admiring the view for a moment and resisting the urge to lean over and run his own hands down the length of Rufus’ sun-warmed torso. The knowledge that he is the only man alive allowed to do so makes heat curl restlessly in the pit of his stomach.

“Good morning, Tseng.” Rufus says without looking up. “Or is it afternoon?” 

“Nearly. I do hope you applied sunblock, sir.” 

“Yes, mother.” Rufus turns his head and Tseng finds himself staring at his own reflection in his mirrored lenses. “Relax. Or are you capable of such a thing?” 

Tseng scowls. 

“It’s nice out today,” Rufus continues, “Warm.” 

“Yes.” 

“So why are you in that damn suit?” 

“Maintaining professional appearances,” Tseng replies simply, “Being overly lax around you out in the open could rouse suspicion.” 

“Please,” Rufus scoffs, “I haven’t seen anyone all day.” He leans back and throws his arms above his head, stretching lazy and catlike. His shirt opens farther, falling to his sides so that Tseng can see the sharp points of his hip bones over the waistband of his shorts, the delicate stripe of fair hair blazing a path down from his navel. “There’s no need for protocol here, Tseng. Go change, come lay in the sun with me. Consider it an order from the Vice President.”

Tseng chuckles, mildly amused. “And what would the Vice President have me wear?” 

“Preferably nothing.” Rufus pushes his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to peer over the rims, his eyes like mercury in the bright sunlight. “You’re far too pretty to stay covered up on such a nice day.” 

_Pretty._

The word is an unexpected caress to Tseng’s desire. Receiving compliments from Rufus _does_ something to him. He holds no reservations for his appearance one way or the other. His body is what it is—a tool for Shinra, a weapon with a heartbeat, battle-worn and finely tuned. But Rufus thinks he’s _pretty,_ and it’s damning how much the frilly little word falling from those lips affects Tseng. His face heats, and it has nothing to do with the sun. 

He hesitates too long for Rufus’ liking. “Go on, out of that suit.” Rufus shoos him with the wave of a hand, as if he were a stray cat. 

“Very well,” Tseng acquiesces. 

He changes into something more suitable for the climate. His casual attire is considerably more modest than Rufus’ tiny swim shorts, but shows enough skin for him to enjoy the warmth of the sun. When he returns to the veranda, Rufus hands him a cocktail, and Tseng accepts it, easing into the chaise opposite him. 

Being idle makes him feel oddly anxious. People in his line of work were not allowed such luxuries. Lounging by the sea, basking in the sun, day-drinking with Rufus Shinra—not the sort of thing Tseng could have ever imagined when he was young in the company. 

Spending the holidays with Rufus. Promises to be kept by his side in an idyllic future crafted in Rufus’ dreams. It was too much. Turks couldn’t afford to think about _futures._ They existed only in the present, knowing their lives could be snuffed out at any moment. One wrong move, one mistake, and it was over. 

Sleeping with Rufus felt more dangerous than any mission of Tseng’s career. Getting too close— _attached_ —was a beast all its own. 

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Rufus glances over at him. “Please, Tseng. Relax. Enjoy it while we’re here.” 

Tseng sips his cocktail. He’s never had a healthy relationship with relaxation, never been able to quiet his brain for long enough. He had so many responsibilities, so many things to keep track of. Usually, his only means of rest came when he collapsed into bed at night, exhausted. He makes an active effort to comply with Rufus’ request, focusing on the heat of the sun caressing his skin, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. Their time together was fleeting, that much was certain. Soon the week would end, and they would part ways. Tseng would return to Midgar, to his life of blood and shadows and deception, and Rufus would be locked away once again, to spend his lonely days maddened by his own thoughts. 

Tseng finishes his drink and finds himself considerably more relaxed at the bottom of the glass. Typically he avoids drinking, steers clear of anything that could potentially alter his mental status. But there is something to be said about the pleasant lightness of his body, the subtle hum in his blood. 

Rufus lolls his head around and smiles at him, his face pinked by the midday sun and the flush of alcohol. “Loosened up?” 

“A bit.” 

“I’m not convinced.” He rolls onto his side, props his cheek in his hand. “It’s all over your face.” 

“Sir?” 

“Stop being Tseng of the Turks. For a few short days, just be Tseng.” 

Tseng laughs. “You say that as if my position is something I can just set aside.” 

“It is, for now.” Rufus answers, pulling his sunglasses off, his blue eyes piercing. “There’s no need for a Turk here. You don’t have to be so rigidly formal or vehemently responsible. There’s no threat. No protocol.”

“Everything about this trip is a breach of protocol.” Tseng reminds him gently. “It endangers us both.” 

Rufus’ stare intensifies, his fair brows knitting together. “Do you regret it, then?” 

“No,” Tseng answers immediately. “I do not regret any time spent with you.” 

Rufus smirks, pleased with his answer. “Then savor it. Have drinks at noon. Allow yourself a moment of reprieve. Be my lover.” 

“I’ll do my best, sir.” 

“See, there it is,” Rufus shakes his head. “Drop the ‘sir’ here. Use my name instead.” 

Tseng rarely refers to Rufus by his name, staunchly professional in his role despite their physical relationship. Even in private, using it has always felt too intimate, like crossing an invisible line. 

“Say it,” Rufus presses. “I want to hear you say my name.” 

“Rufus.” Tseng tests the syllables on his tongue, how his mouth shapes the name, the sound of it in his own voice, spoken softly as if it’s a secret to be kept. 

“Mm, see. Simple as that. I like when you call me by my name.” Rufus says. He looks past Tseng then, gazing down the stretch of the coastline with the same longing, faraway look Tseng has grown accustomed to. “All the vows I make, Tseng. I intend to keep them.”

The word _sir_ forms on Tseng’s lips, but he catches himself. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” 

“I know that,” Rufus pushes himself to his feet, padding across the sun-warmed planks to stand next to Tseng. He gently grasps his chin, tilting his face up to look him in the eyes. “But I _want_ to. I care for you, Tseng. That much I am determined to prove.” 

Tseng’s pulse quickens, he feels it suddenly in his temples, the accelerated rush of blood through his veins setting off alarms. _Warning!_ The ache in his chest is what’s most concerning, his longing to see all of Rufus’ aspirations come to fruition, to witness them himself while standing at his side. 

Rufus’ admission effortlessly strips Tseng of his defenses. He dangles over a precipice he is doomed to tumble over. The moment feels pivotal, like a point of no return. Tseng lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

A wrinkle forms between Rufus’ brows. “Say something.” 

Tseng doesn’t know what to say. They were never supposed to go this far. There were never supposed to be _emotions._ He is suddenly, painfully aware that he has fallen for Rufus Shinra, and it _terrifies_ him. 

“I—” He hears his own voice as if from underwater, deafened by the hammering of his heartbeat in his ears. “I do… care for you, Rufus.” Speaking it aloud feels like disarming in front of the enemy. Lying prone in the lion’s den. Baring his throat. The warning bells pitch higher. “But I—”

“No,” Rufus stops him with a finger to his lips. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a change in the set of his mouth, but he locks it away too quickly for Tseng to decipher. “That’s alright, Tseng.” 

“I’m sorry.” Tseng feels raw. Wrecked. 

“Don’t be. This is enough.” Rufus drops into his lap without warning, straddling his thighs. His gaze falls to Tseng’s mouth, his lips parting. “Kiss me.” 

Tseng does, cupping Rufus’ cheek and tilting his head for a better angle. He tries to convey through actions what he failed to say in words, kissing Rufus open-mouthed and unhurried, stroking into his mouth and tasting citrus on his lips, swallowing up every soft sound and sigh. It’s slower, more tender than their usual kissing, and it doesn’t take Rufus long to become impatient. He thrusts his tongue past Tseng’s teeth and slides his fingers into his hair, tugging until Tseng’s scalp burns. 

“Do you want me?” Rufus’ tone drops, low and sensual. He grinds against Tseng with purpose, the tight fit of his shorts doing little to hide his arousal. 

“Yes,” Tseng breathes. There's never a time he doesn’t want him. 

He wishes they weren’t so far from the bedroom, wishes he could have Rufus here in the salt air and the sun. Rufus has plans of his own, sliding his shorts down his narrow hips. His cock is flushed pink and _perfect._ Tseng reaches for him, but Rufus bats his hands away, going instead for his drawstrings, tugging them loose.

“Off,” he says, and Tseng lifts his hips enough for Rufus to yank his shorts down his thighs, then they’re rutting desperately against each other, chasing friction with sweat-slicked skin. Rufus buries his face in the crook of Tseng’s neck to muffle his cries, sinking blunt teeth into the tender place where his neck meets his shoulder. 

It’s too much. It’s not enough. 

“Here, let me—” Tseng licks the palm of his hand wet, and reaches down to grip them both. Rufus moans loud and wanting, his nails digging into Tseng’s bicep, his hip, bright-white points of pain. 

“Rufus,” Tseng grits, _“Move.”_

Rufus makes an animal sound in response before doing as he’s told. His weight bears down on Tseng, thrusting into the tight ring of his fist and driving their cocks together. 

“Tseng,” the name comes through clenched teeth as the muscles of Rufus’ thighs begin to shake. “Tseng, _please—”_

“Tell me,” Tseng whispers, feeling the tension mounting, tightening in his balls and burning low in his belly. He is a chord being pulled taut, threatening to snap. 

Rufus makes a choked-off sound, then tosses his head and comes on a silent scream, spilling in Tseng’s hand, onto his stomach. The sight of him enraptured, his mouth open and red, is enough to send Tseng hurtling over the edge.

He rocks his hips up against Rufus a final time, squeezes his eyes shut, and shouts his name to the endless cerulean sky. 

  


* * * * *

  


Tseng wakes to sunlight on his face, tinting the insides of his eyelids pink. He so rarely sleeps past dawn, usually up, showered, and dressed before the sun. He shifts, rousing slowly and blinking bleary eyes at the pale rays streaming in through the gossamer curtains, painting the bedroom in stripes. It was their last, bittersweet day in Costa. 

_Rufus._

Tseng reaches instinctively for him, but his hand meets only the cool sheet. 

He sits up, looking around the empty room. His stomach drops. It wasn’t like Rufus to wake before him. In the week they had spent together, not once had Tseng woke without him either wrapped protectively in his arms, or clinging to his back, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. 

How had Rufus managed to slip out from under his nose without waking him? And where was he?

“You’re awake.” 

Rufus appears in the doorway as if summoned, wearing only a delicate white dressing gown, his hair damp from a shower. 

“Gods,” Tseng deflates with relief, “You worried me.” 

Rufus chuckles. “Is it so hard to believe I got out of bed early?” 

Tseng offers him a withered look. 

Blue eyes roll as Rufus shrugs away from the door frame. He crosses the room and climbs onto the bed, the hem of his gown riding up to show off a dizzying amount of thigh. He kisses Tseng, sweet and soft, running fingers through his hair and tucking it behind his ear. When he leans away, his expression is fond. 

“Do you remember, when we were walking along the beach reminiscing about the holidays, and I told you I was saving you a gift?” 

“I do,” Tseng frowns, “And I recall telling you that gifts weren’t necessary.” 

“Yes, well,” Rufus reaches into the pocket of his gown and withdraws a small velvet box, holding it out in offering. “I recently told you that I intend to make good on all my promises to you. I promised you a gift, Tseng.” 

Tseng stares at the box, dumbstruck. When he doesn’t take it, Rufus reaches for his wrist, turning his palm up and placing the box in his hand, curling his fingers around it. 

“You don’t have to open it if you truly don’t want it, but it’s yours nonetheless.” Rufus sits back, his expression calm and genuine. 

Tseng strokes the pad of his thumb along the seam in the delicate velvet. “What is it and how much missing gil am I going to have to explain to your father?” 

He expects Rufus to react, to laugh or get annoyed, but he doesn’t. He merely sits there, looking glamorous in his gown with his bare feet and his aristocratic features. 

“Believe it or not, I didn’t spend much at all. It’s something I’ve had for quite some time..” Rufus reaches out and rests his hand lightly on Tseng’s bicep, his eyes softening. “Will you open it? Please.” 

“Alright,” Tseng agrees, genuinely curious. Anticipation flutters in his stomach as he slowly opens the lid. Light catches on the contents, twinkling, and Tseng hears his own gasp as he reveals a stunning pair of rubies nestled in dark velvet. He turns them back and forth, entranced by the brilliant glimmering of a thousand bloodred facets. 

“Rufus,” he whispers, looking up to find his lover still and silent, waiting. “Where did you get these?” 

A secret smile plays on Rufus’ narrow lips. “Do you like them?” 

“Yes, they're gorgeous, but I—” Tseng swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “I can’t accept this.” 

“It would mean a lot to me if you did. Here,” Rufus reaches for the box again. Tseng hands it to him robotically, still in shock. He watches him pluck one of the rubies from it’s bed, inspecting it thoughtfully before sliding the back off. He looks back to Tseng. “May I?” 

Tseng leans toward him, holding his breath and turning his head in permission. Rufus touches his ear feather-light, slipping the earring into the empty place where Tseng’s simple studs normally rest, removed for the night and now replaced. Rufus gently turns his face to repeat the motion on the opposite side. He pushes Tseng’s hair behind the shell of his ear, snaps the delicate back in place, and sits back to admire his handiwork. 

“There,” he smiles in approval. “Lovely.” 

Affection twists fondly in Tseng’s chest. “I—Thank you.” 

Rufus nods towards the mirror across the room. “Go have a look.” 

Tseng pushes the covers back, swings his legs out of bed and crosses the room to look at his reflection. He feels Rufus’ eyes on his back, watching him. Tseng stares at himself, turning his head this way and that to watch the rubies wink in his earlobes. They’re heavier than he’s used to, flashier than anything he would have ever picked out for himself, but they’re perfect because they came from Rufus. 

“Are you going to finally tell me where these came from? Or leave me guessing forever?” He looks at his lover over his shoulder. 

“They’ve been in my family since before I was born.” 

“Oh?”

Rufus nods. He looks down at his hands in his lap, fidgeting idly with the belt of his gown. His mouth curves into a small, sad smile. “They were my mother’s.” 

Tseng’s eyebrows leap to his hairline. He feels as if someone has poured ice water down his back. “Rufus, I can’t take these from you. Not something so sentimental—”

Rufus shakes his head, wisps of blond falling into his eyes. “No, they’re yours now. I had them reset and reshaped to better suit you. They should be worn by someone who will appreciate them as she once did.” 

The beloved rubies of Rufus’ late mother, kept safe all these years, now reborn with Tseng in mind. It’s the most thoughtful gift he’s ever received. He reaches to touch one with trembling fingers.

“My father gave them to her,” Rufus continues, “When they were young.” He makes a point to look Tseng in the eyes, holding his gaze. “When he loved her.” 

Something swells behind Tseng’s sternum, too large for the space his heart occupies, unfurling and stealing his breath. His knees go weak where he stands, as if they might buckle and send him to the floor. He doesn’t look away from that discerning blue gaze, but nods, accepting Rufus’ gift and his words for what they are—a love declaration, given without being explicitly said. 

Tseng doesn’t know how to respond, but Rufus decides for him, beckoning to him with the crook of a finger. He is across the room and in his lover’s arms in a blink, their lips locked and Rufus’ hands smoothing down his back, the curve of his ass, kneading at the firm muscle there. Tseng gasps, his arousal stirring, as Rufus moves to kiss his neck. 

“Let me have you,” He whispers, nuzzling at Tseng’s throat. 

_You already do._

Tseng surrenders, relinquishes control to Rufus. It starts with Rufus curled over him, working in a slicked finger and then another as Tseng’s breath staggers and he whispers _please._ He ends up on his back at Rufus’ request, _I want to see your face when you come on my cock._ Rufus kisses his face, his mouth, his neck, whispers sweet nothings in his ear while he fucks him long and slow and deep. _So good for me, so tight, so beautiful, my Tseng._ He picks Tseng apart at the tightly-laced seams, stokes him like a flame, brighter and hotter and wilder until he burns him down to ash. Until Tseng shatters in his arms, letting go of everything and sobbing Rufus Shinra’s name, shaking in the wake of it, carved out and utterly spent. 

Rufus lies next to him in the aftermath, brushing the sweaty hair back from Tseng’s forehead, nuzzling beneath his jaw and kissing the side of his throat where marks left by his teeth and tongue seep purple into his skin. 

“My lovely Tseng,” he whispers, kissing a puckered mark on his shoulder. A bullet wound, with a perfect exit point around the back, faded with time. 

Tseng sighs, content. He commits the feel of his lover’s mouth on his skin to memory as Rufus continues reverently cataloguing his imperfections with his lips, his hands. Reminders of the blood Tseng has shed and pain he's endured in the name of Shinra. 

“I don’t want it to end.” Rufus murmurs after a bit, when they are both still and quiet, heartbeats slowing down. “I’m not ready to give you up.” 

Tseng draws him in close, tucks Rufus’ head under his chin. “We’ll be together again before you know it.” He thinks of the future Rufus promises him, where there are no secrets. Rufus ruling the city whose lights and sounds make his heart race, laying claim to what’s rightfully his while Tseng follows close behind. His right hand. His trusted ally. His lover. 

“Every time we part ways, I wonder if it’s for the last time.” Rufus sighs, twisting and untwisting his fingers in a lock of Tseng’s hair. He sits up, pinning Tseng with an intense look. “Promise me you’ll live to come back to me.” 

It’s a promise Tseng can’t possibly make, they both knew it. Turks were never guaranteed tomorrow. There were no promises. 

Tseng nods nonetheless. He cradles Rufus’ face in both hands and tugs him down, resting their foreheads together. “I will do my best.” 

“Promise me, Tseng.” 

Tseng kisses him, first on the mouth, then gently presses his lips to the spot between Rufus’ eyes where concern knits his brows. “Promise.” 

“When it’s mine…” Rufus trails off, rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. His thoughts far away. “When it’s mine, Tseng, things will be so different.” 

He is dismally silent on the drive back, gazing out the window once more. Unlike the trip down, today there is no storm, no rain clouds. It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny and bright. The perfect weather feels like a slap in the face. 

Rufus remains stoic when they say their goodbyes, nothing but a professional farewell between company heir and subordinate. Blue eyes linger on Tseng’s for a moment after, the yawning sorrow in them so vast it steals his breath. He wants to reach out for Rufus, to hold him one last time, kiss him goodbye and assure him they’ll meet again soon. Instead, he stands straight and still while two security officers escort his lover away. 

How many days will it be this time? Weeks? Months?

There are nine text messages and seventeen email notifications lighting up Tseng’s phone by the time he returns to his office. His presence is requested. The president would like his report on the events of the week. Tseng’s story is already fabricated: a peaceful holiday spent watching over a spoiled brat. A simple mission endured, Rufus Shinra grating on his nerves, mostly well behaved and bored in his big empty villa. 

Tseng swipes his keycard, his high clearance level allowing him access to the private elevator that took him straight to the boardroom where he would meet with the president and his executives. 

He smiles to himself as the doors whisk open, thinks of the twin rubies winking in his earlobes, and wonders idly if the president will notice them, and feel nostalgic.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 4 of Shinra Holiday Week - Costa del Christmas
> 
> I'm a bit late, but proud that I at least finished it within the week. As usual, my one-shots get away from me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you like this one, I spent a lot of time on it during a particularly difficult time for myself. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter, at my main [here](https://twitter.com/occasusH), and my FF side Twitter where I frequently yell about Tseng [here](https://twitter.com/OCCVII).


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